A Demon Named Hope
by ThatBlondeGuy
Summary: This is my first swing at fanfiction. This story fills in the "missing scene" during "The Next World" (y'all know the one). Although this is definitely a Richonne-centered piece, it is definitely Michonne-centric, focusing on her perspective and her own journey of inner discovery that night. Some unpacking of her identity and some VERY definite erotica. Hope you enjoy!
**"A Demon Named Hope"**

Michonne's heartbeat had always been steady.

She remembered being bound, kneeling in front of the Governor and his forces, certain she was going to die, the air around her heavy, fecund with the promises of blood.

 _Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

Not serenity, but a sense of acceptance, a knowledge that it had been inevitable since The End had come, since the world she'd known was subsumed by this new, ravenous, and indifferent age. Ever since then, seeing the sunrise each day was something miraculous.

But she _didn't_ die.

It was Hershel who fell that day, ironically, to her own blade, a blade wielded by a power-mad, blood-drunk sociopath. She never really did look at her sword the same way after it had taken the head of that sweet man… No, Michonne didn't die. She persevered; she had found her way beneath the hail of bullets, many of them whining by her ears, and freed herself. Hell, she'd even laughed to herself as she did it, bemused by the chaos and pointlessness of it all.

And she killed the Governor.

Not killed, per se, but left him in a position to die easy. _That_ had been glorious, thrilling even, and she still sometimes recalled the feeling of her steel sliding through him with a smile. Yet amidst the screams, the gunfire, and plunging her blade through that maniac's chest… all the while, her heart never seemed to waver from its set rhythm.

 _Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

This age, this new world, was as a whetstone to steel; it honed you, each passing day a scrape against the grain, stripping away what was unneeded, making you into something different, something keener and deadlier. With each day you saw another sunrise, each day you cheated death, you came to accept its inevitability, feared it less and less. When the adrenaline hit your bloodstream, when that acrid scent was in the air, it was like welcoming an old and familiar friend into your home; nothing new need be expected. Perhaps today was the day, perhaps it wasn't, but Michonne had ever allowed her instincts to think and act for her since The End, and her instincts had kept her standing, kept her breathing, kept her heart _beating_ when countless others had fallen.

And now, she found that her heart was jack-hammering against her ribcage.

She could hear her pulse in her ears, the high whine of her determined and indomitable blood. She could feel it in her arms as she reached out to Rick, caressing his face, his hair, as she met his lips with hers.

" _My God, is this really happening?"_ She thought, _"It is. It_ really _is. He's finally mine. I'm finally his. And I think that on some level, I've always known this would happen. I_ wanted _this. I've dreamed about it, but I've never allowed myself to_ hope. _I never hoped it would happen because that's when you get hurt, when you_ hope. _No, no hope. Not for me. Just desire. Just his blue eyes, his strong hands, his pink lips, his pink_ cock _… I've lain awake with my hand between my legs, aching for this, for_ Rick, _but never for a moment allowing myself to_ hope..."

She caressed the rough stubble of his face and sank her fingers into the soft curls of his hair as she met his tongue with hers, not wanting to close her eyes, wanting to take all of him in, to devour the moment as much as she'd wanted to devour _him,_ though never allowed herself to hope for it. Lying back on the couch, she allowed herself a moment to hold his face in her hands, to stare at him, at those hungry blue eyes, to feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

She couldn't help the smile any more than she could help her thundering heart, the core of her being screaming out in joy and terror as it surged to meet destiny, to meet _desire_ , to meet everything for which she'd never allowed herself hope.

 _What do you want… for_ you _?_

She'd known. Of course she had, though the surrender to it had been one of the most difficult things in her emotional existence. Deanna had known too, prescient as she was, though Michonne understood Deanna wouldn't have said it outright because Michonne hadn't been ready to hear those words, to acknowledge it, to acquiesce to something even _resembling_ hope. Michonne knew what she felt for Rick, what she wanted, though it occurred to her that she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it had become so clear and so certain. But it had always been there, beneath the veneer of both the banal and the violent, beneath meeting his eyes with hers, the times they'd touched, as she fought a bloody, inner conflict with the ravenous demon called "hope".

Through darkness and despair and degradation to this moment; this one warm, desire-drenched moment wherein the entirety of this bloody and chaotic world simply vanished. Beyond this room, the dim, delirious glow of the lamp, all else was darkness.

Rick fumbled with his gunbelt, muttering nervously. She could feel his rapid pulse under her hands as she laid them against his neck. Her own heart was racing to meet Rick's, and even this brief moment feeling her lips separated from his was agony. She knew it wouldn't be long until she was feeling his heartbeat inside her, that hard and urgent throbbing, and she wanted it more than she wanted her next breath. The hungry crackle of energy beneath her navel made her a thousand promises of joyous, small deaths.

And beneath it all was terror from which she'd been hiding ever since The End, possibly even before.

 _Hope._

Pulling him to her again, she felt the growing hardness between his legs press against her and moaned against his lips. Rick slid his hands beneath her, into the back of her pants, gripping her bare buttocks tightly, and pulled her against the hardness he offered her, feeling the swampy heat she was emanating. The moan that came from her then was urgent, desperate, and she pressed her pelvis against his hungrily. Michonne's instincts, ever-honed, ever-sharp, set her pelvis into motion, into tight, hard thrusts. Rick immediately matched her rhythm, groaning against her neck.

Michonne tightened her thighs around his sides, locking her mouth around Rick's neck and stifling what would have been a resonant moan. Her orgasm was already coming and she wasn't going to fight it. There would be more. Oh, yes, there would be _many_ more.

When the orgasm _did_ come, Michonne wound her fists in Rick's shirt, leaning into him, biting his shoulder to stifle the cry. She locked her legs around his back as her pelvis surged forward into the rigid length of him.

"Oh my God..," he rasped, "Michonne…"

Her breath coming in hitched sobs, she stared up into his eyes, admiring his flushed face. _Her_ Rick.

"Baby, take me upstairs. Now. _Right now._ "

Rick stood from the couch, his eyes never leaving hers, and offered her his hand. He knew she didn't need it, but he wasn't ready to stop touching her. Michonne knew this, of course, and accepted it. Even as she stood, she was unable to stop staring at him, as though it were the first time she _had_. She'd stolen glances at him times beyond count and yet, she felt she was finally _seeing_ him for the first time.

" _You_ ," she said, kissing him.

"Yeah," he whispered, "You _too_ …"

His tongue found hers again and she thought that the fabric of her bra against her erect nipples was torturous; she couldn't wait to be out of these clothes but, at the same time, the thought of breaking the kiss filled her with a quiet, delicious dread. She knew it must be done, though, because if not, she'd ride him to the floor and mount him right there.

Rick took her hand and led her up the stairs, walking softly as he could. Michonne was normally not one to be lead anywhere, but in this case, it felt right, natural. She _wanted_ to be taken and, with a grin, she knew she was going to be doing some taking herself. She reached out and put her hand on the small of his back, feeling like a teenager who'd just discovered her sexuality with someone she loved with the sort of zeal of which only the teenage heart seems capable.

" _Love..,_ " she thought, " _Yes, that's_ exactly _what this is. I love him. I probably have for some time, but only now do I truly understand… I didn't allow myself to think it. I didn't allow myself to…"_

"…Hope..," Rick whispered mid-sentence, leading her into the bedroom.

"What?" She responded, jolted from her reflection by his voice forming the stolen thought.

Rick took her face in his hands, caressing her high, elegant cheekbones and the neck that sloped so perfectly into the curve of her breasts. "I don't think I ever… I don't think I ever allowed myself to hope for this, that we'd be here, Michonne."

Michonne simply stared up into his eyes, feeling foolishly awestruck. How many times had this same dance played out? How many times had they simply sunk into each other's emotional unconscious so effortlessly?

Rick silently shut the door behind him, barely taking his eyes off hers.

"I knew," Michonne whispered, kissing him again, "We both knew. Why did it take us so long?"

Michonne pressed her head against the warmth of his chest and sighed, her hand finding the hardness between Rick's legs, caressing him through his jeans in long, slow strokes. He chuckled softly.

"Because we're idiots," he said, "But if you don't stop that, I'm going to shoot in my pants like a kid."

Michonne giggled, something she didn't frequently do, but if she was going to be a lovestruck teenager, why not? _Another_ stolen thought.

He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, eagerly kissing her neck and the upper ridges of her breasts. Michonne knew if that bra didn't come off soon, she'd lose what was currently left of her mind. She immediately unfastened the bra and absently flung it into the surrounding gloom. His hands found her breasts as she hoped they would, and she arched her body into his touch with a whimper of satisfaction. When Rick leaned down into her, his tongue tracing the dark spheres of her nipples, the surge of electricity appeared in her stomach again. She began tearing at the buttons of his shirt, her fingers frantic and uncooperative. Rick chuckled.

"Technical difficulties?" He said with an impish smirk, his eyes alight with both playfulness and desire.

Michonne returned the smirk, although with mock exasperation. "Oh, shut up, baby. Get this thing off."

She was hungry to press her bare breasts against his chest, to feel the tickle of his chest hair on her nipples, to bathe in the warmth of him. As Rick unbuttoned the shirt, she was still absently fumbling with the first button she'd attempted to undo. When his shirt was tossed away, she pressed herself into him, groaning as she got what she wanted. Rick turned and sat down on the bed, peeling her yoga pants off of her. Michonne steadied herself on his shoulder and smiled at how shaky her legs were. It wasn't until that moment Michonne became aware of just how wet she was; she had nearly soaked the pants through. Rick took note of this with a grin, looking up into her eyes. She stepped out of her thong and tossed it across the room.

"Splat," she said.

Rick laughed, pulling her toward him, kissing her just below her navel. Michonne playfully pushed him backwards onto the bed and he lay supine, looking up at her with a gaze she knew all too well. So _this_ was what was behind those eyes all this time…

Her hands moved quickly now, possessed of a will of their own, finally complying with her racing thoughts, and, as if by magic, Rick was naked. Michonne looked at what he offered her with a self-satisfied grin.

" _That's mine"_ , she thought.

Her playfulness had vanished now, usurped by pure, primal hunger. Rick could feel that hunger, spilling off Michonne in waves to match her heartbeat. He pulled her to him, feeling her hand caressing him, stroking him. Michonne wanted nothing more than to savor those caresses, to take him into her mouth, to _torment_ him with her sexuality, but there would be other times for that yet. There would be other nights when they could explore each other, when she could inundate him with wave after wave of pleasure, but no, not now… The immediacy was simply too much. Tonight was about fulfillment, about hunger, about desire…about _hope._

She leaned onto Rick, the onyx twists of her locs in his face, kissing him greedily, her left hand never leaving the rigid, throbbing length between his legs.

She guided him into her slowly, gasping as his cock parted her labia. Rick gasped in unison as he entered her, his grip tightening on her hips. She eased him into her a bit at a time, the electricity in her belly screaming in ravenous hunger for _all of it_ , to take it all _immediately…_ But this was an agony she wanted to savor…at least for the moment. But the hunger would win. It would _always_ win.

She pressed her hips down onto him, taking his full length into her.

"Oh my _God_ ," she moaned.

She rested herself on her hands, looking down into his eyes, her breath hitching in her throat.

 _This._

This is what she'd wanted for _her,_ what she'd wanted for so long and never allowed herself to hope she _could_ have. Rick. _Her_ Rick, her heart, the long-missing fragments of her spirit. She wanted to hold him inside her, to freeze this moment and let it echo forever on, to let the rest of existence be this and _only_ this moment where she was warm, safe, where she held him within her.

What she'd wanted was this, a place where the truest and surest thing was that he loved her every bit as much as she'd ever loved him.

She began rocking slowly, her pelvis moving in agonizingly tight circles, feeling every inch of him. Again, Rick matched her rhythm almost immediately. Seemingly hypnotized, delirious, she couldn't take her eyes from his. She wanted every second of his response, every nuance of his flushed face and every bit of light in his eyes while he was inside her. Leaning forward and pressing her breasts into his hands, she remained unable to break away from those blue eyes. His right hand found her cheek, pulling her toward him for a wet, breathless kiss.

Rick moaned against her lips, listening to the wet sound of their thrusts, to Michonne's sobbing breaths, pulling her down by her hips, pushing deeper into her.

"Michonne..," he gasped, "Oh, _fuck_ …"

She could feel him lengthening, getting impossibly harder inside her, and she allowed herself a deep, uninhibited moan. She felt her wetness matting his pubic hair and when he grabbed her ass with both hands, she felt the wetness that had spread back there too.

The ball of energy was coalescing again in the pit of her belly. It'd been two years of celibacy and though she'd thought of this, imagined this many times, she was astounded at the speed with which she was climaxing again. She could feel the internal shockwaves, the precursors signaling that _this_ was going to be one for the books. This orgasm was coming and there was no denying it, no slowing it down, like the mindless, indifferent, and ineluctable tide. The waves began spilling over her as she pressed harder onto him, grinding her clitoris against Rick's pubic bone. Oh God, she was going to have to kiss him when she came because if she didn't, she would scream. Rick could sense this, it seemed, because his thrusts became more urgent in time with hers.

"Oh, Rick," she groaned, "Oh, baby…Oh my God…Oh, fuck… fuck… _fuck!"_

Digging her nails into his shoulders and clamping her mouth over his, she came, a burst of spasms like a torrent of pure, unblemished and uncontrollable energy. His kiss muffled her joyous shriek, though just barely. As her hips bucked, Rick felt the fluttering inside her, squeezing the length of him, pulling him further into her barest depths, and he himself couldn't hold back anymore, surprised he'd even lasted _this_ long. The gritting of his teeth told Michonne every nuance of the tale.

Rick pressed his forehead against hers, his hands tightening on her hips, and she felt hot wetness explode inside her.

"Yes, Rick! Yes, yes!" She wailed. She'd forgotten the volume of her voice entirely now.

This brought a fresh wave of the delicious spasms inside her as she continued her slow, torturous thrusts, feeling the erratic spurts of warmth in her. This was hers, too, this liquid fire. As the panicked pleasure of their orgasms ebbed, Michonne collapsed on top of him, glimmering with a layer of sweat. His hands caressed length of her back, the muscular curve of her ass, and the sides of her thighs while her own remained tangled in the damp curls of his hair. They lay there in a sweaty tangle, their ragged breaths slowing, relishing the stillness together for some time. Michonne broke the silence.

"This," she said, laying her head against his chest.

"What's that, baby?" He asked.

"Deanna… She said I needed to figure out what I wanted for _me._ This is what I wanted. You. Me. _Us._ This was the answer."

"You know," Rick said, stroking her hair, "I think she knew. I mean, before we did. I think maybe that's why she paired us as constables. She _knew._ " He kissed the top of her head. In the drowsy light of the moon spilling though the windows, he could appreciate the contrast of their bodies. He felt he could easily be hypnotized by the glimmer of sweat on her flawless skin, the way it pooled in the small of her back.

"She did," she said, "Sly old fox. She definitely knew… Makes me wonder about how many of the others saw it when we didn't."

Rick considered this for a moment and laughed. "Oh, Christ… There's probably a betting pool."

Michonne kissed his chest, giggling. "You think so?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning sheepishly, "Wouldn't be surprised."

They fell silent for a time, caressing each other. When he was no longer hard and slipped slowly out of her, Michonne eased herself off him and curled up beside him, draping her arm and leg across his body. They'd both be sleeping in a wet spot and Michonne couldn't have been happier to do so. Rick's hand found the curve of her hip and ass. That caused a stirring in her again, but she knew she was spent for the night and a bit tender. Tomorrow morning, though…

"This was the answer for me too, Michonne," he said, caressing her hip. "This is…this is _different_. This is what I missed. This is what I…" He trailed off for a moment, "This is what I never had. Not even before…all _this_." The admission had been easy, the words simple, though the revelatory act of saying them changed more in him than he would have ever guessed.

Michonne leaned up and kissed him tenderly. "I know," she said, "Even if you didn't say it, I'd know. I told you before, even if we couldn't find a way here in Alexandria, I'd still be with you."

Rick ran his fingers through her hair. "And here you are."

"Here I am," she said, smiling, "And I'm not going anywhere."

Curling up beside him, listening to his breathing, Michonne sank effortlessly into a serenity she hadn't known before, a place of certainty, a place where she was safe, where she was cherished and loved. Again came the thought that all things beyond this room, this moment, were darkness. As she began to drift off, she thought of Carl and what he'd said.

" _It should be someone who loves her, someone who's family and I'd… I'd do it for you."_

Family.

That was what she had now. She thought of Judith and her Dixie cups, how she'd be saying her first word any day now, how she'd reach her little arms up towards Michonne when she wanted to be held.

She considered the impending reality; one day, the words from Judith's lips would be "mama". This struck a chord in her that she'd long-protected, one she'd buried beneath layers of stoicism and the calm, predictable desolation that was solitude. But she welcomed this pain. She had to.

She remembered Andre, her lost little boy, and the regret she'd carry with her until her last sunset. Rick would know, one day. She would tell him about Peanut, likely through tears while Rick held her, but he would know. He had to. There was anticipation in her of being in his arms while she shed those tears, when the dam broke and that grief flooded from her, the sense of yet another broken circle in her heart closing. If it weren't for what she'd found with Rick, with Carl and Judith, what would she be?

 _I was just another monster…_

But now… Everything was so different. A new light shone in the world, even in this present darkness, this pervasive and all-consuming doom. Somehow, inexplicably, at the end of all things, she'd found peace; a peace that wasn't a resignation to the inevitability of death, but the peace which comes from being exactly where one needs to be, being with exactly whom one needs to, and loving exactly how one was meant to love.

Michonne felt the sting of tears, saw the blur at the edge of her vision and, for the first time in longer than she could remember, allowed both joy and _hope_ to cascade through her. It wasn't a demon, not anymore, no longer something to fear. Here, now, in the Alexandria Safe Zone, in the still watches of the night, hope had finally become something to nurture, to cultivate… something for which one might live. Hope.

It was different. _Everything_ was.

It didn't take her long to fall asleep beside her husband.


End file.
